


Confessions and cuddles, or All of his dreams

by Iiandyr



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iiandyr/pseuds/Iiandyr
Summary: This one does pretty much what it says on the tin. It's a continuation of the scene from KoA where Lorcan and Elide talk after the battle at Anielle. Also, the much needed talk between Lorcan and Fenrys that we were robbed of in KoA.Canon compliant
Relationships: Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	Confessions and cuddles, or All of his dreams

After Elide left, Lorcan flickered in and out of slumber for a couple of hours. All his dreams revolved around her, and the rare times he woke up the cot felt empty. 

Brief shouts meandered their way up from the battlements, and the smell of burning meat and hair filled his nostrils as the felled soldiers were pulled into stacks and set on fire.

His midriff still smarted if he tried sitting up, but he was growing more and more annoyed with being cooped up. They needed to continue north, and he didn’t want to be the one to slow them down. There were also other things he didn’t want to slow down. When -- if -- she wanted him, he wanted to be able to perform. That kiss had nearly wrecked him. He willed his body to heal faster.

In the afternoon a knock sounded on the door, and it creaked open. Lorcan slid out of his reveries with a smile, but was disappointed to see Fenrys in the door frame.

The Wolf came bearing food. A bowl of stew in his hands, which he gingerly transferred to Lorcan’s as soon as the larger male managed to wriggle into a sitting position. The brew was grey and cloudy, but the waft tangy, a fresh wind compared to the stale air inside.

Lorcan’s stomach growled, and he cursed himself for forgetting to eat. He’d been up shortly, to clean up and find a bathing chamber after Elide left. He should have also found himself some sustenance. He didn’t hesitate digging into the food, and therefore it took him a minute to figure out Fenrys lingered.

He lowered the spoon long enough to bark out: “What?”

Fenrys seemed to take this as an invitation and sat down in the chair at the foot of the cot.

Lorcan opened his mouth to demand the Wolf take leave, an instinctual defensive response, but something on Fenrys’ face made him halt his words.

Their eyes met and Fenrys cleared his throat. 

What did he want? 

The Wolf hesitated again, so Lorcan took another spoonful to occupy the silence while he waited. The silence was unsettling. The Wolf had never hesitated to chew into Lorcan, and that was when Lorcan had been his commander, his superior. What had happened?

Lorcan was struck by a thought. Had Aelin decided to not let him follow to Terrasen, after all? That would explain the younger one’s hesitation. The prospect made his stomach lurch, but before panic set in he told himself the bitch queen wouldn’t send Fenrys to deliver such news. If only because it would take all the cadre to stop Lorcan from turning the fortress on its side if that happened, with or without wounds.

Then what was it?

The air between Lorcan and Fenrys had been heavy since they met up outside Doranelle. Lorcan couldn’t forget that mark on Elide’s arm (even though he knew the Wolf had only followed orders), and Fenrys was still giving Lorcan a sideways glance every time Maeve was brought up. Did the Wolf still believe he was loyal to the bitch? Was that it?

He’d hoped Fenrys would wait until Lorcan had more time to recover before picking up the fight, but it didn’t matter. If this was headed for a confrontation Lorcan would still win: he had never had more to fight for. And, he realized with a start, Fenrys had never had less.

He glanced over at a small table where his weapons were laid out. Someone had cleaned them after the battle, and the metal gleamed in the light shining in through the tiny window.

Fenrys followed his gaze, and seemed to glean where Lorcan’s thoughts were headed. The Wolf quickly sat straighter in the chair and cleared his throat. 

“No”, he said. “I don’t want to fight.” He turned back to Lorcan, his eyebrows furrowed. “I just wanted to say I’m … I’m sorry.”

Lorcan spilled the broth over his legs. Thankfully he had already finished most of it, but a few chunks of meat and vegetables spread over the heavy wool blanket. Lorcan swore and scooped the pieces back into the bowl. There was however nothing he could do about the liquid that had already soaked into the fabric, staining it, and filling the room with the smell of wet dog.

Fenrys didn’t even smile. Lorcan had never seen that morose look on Fenrys’ face before. Such stillness, regret that shadowed his light. What made him feel such remorse? It had to be that incident in the marshes.

Lorcan remembered the scar Fenrys had left on Elide, both on her arm, but no doubt also in her mind. She hadn’t betrayed any fear in her interactions with Fenrys after the incident at the marshes, but there had to be some reservations. In the marshes her dread had been palpable, rushing over Lorcan, making his stomach turn.

Even now he had to hold back a growl of horror at the memory of her pale skin, gushing with blood. That irate urge to protect lapped at his nerves like waves breaking on the shore. 

But he already knew this; knew how sorry Fenrys was from the moment it happened. The panic on the younger male’s scent had only been rivalled by Lorcan’s own. 

And now, despite himself, despite the instincts that ran deep, and despite his history of never letting a slight go unpunished, he couldn’t bring that wrath up to the surface. He knew Elide had changed something in him, but… forgiveness? He hadn’t known he was capable of it. 

However, he was not ready to admit such realizations to himself, let alone to Fenrys. With a heavy grip on his bowl, as if that tattered dish was all that grounded him, he grunt out: “You should tell Elide that.”

Fenrys’ throat bobbed. “I have. But it’s not just that.” He lowered his head, his sunbright hair falling over his eyes. 

Through the fringe, Lorcan thought he could discern a shine in the Wolf’s eyes. The sight made his thoughts halt. If it wasn’t the marshes, then what? That side of himself that had been ignited by Elide, the softness, or whatever it was, swirled through him like his magic, rising, taken aback at the vulnerability the younger male was showing. Lorcan surprised himself by letting out a soft: “Hey.”

Fenrys looked up at that. “I …” He paused, appearing to think over his words. “I’m sorry about Maeve. I know you … admired her. Learning about her true self can’t be easy. And having the oath ripped from you like that ...”

Lorcan stilled, puzzled. His pain at being released with dishonor was nothing compared to Fenrys’ feat in breaking the oath by himself. And that his comrade thought he needed to show sympathy for it … Whatsmore, Lorcan had thought his newfound disdain for Maeve would have been obvious. But then again, Fenrys wasn’t like Gavriel, or even Whitethorne; always watching, assessing. No, the youngling took everything at face value, he himself showing every thought and feeling on his countenance. 

Despite himself, a laugh escaped Lorcan; a pitiful, mewling sound. He hadn't known he was capable of such noises. This was apparently a day for many firsts.

“I’m not sorry about Maeve. I deserved all the pain”, he said.

He was a fool for taking the oath in the first place, for binding himself to someone like her. Any pain caused from it was of his own making. Fenrys’ condolences didn’t sit quite right with him.

Fenrys seemed to contemplate his answer, his face contorting in a grimace as he thought. His nose wrinkled in a nearly feral way, anger radiating off him. He finally rose, and clenching his fists he said:

“Yes, you did. For betraying all of us, you deserve the pain.” His voice was laced with agony.

The wound in Lorcan’s side stung. He deserved the lashing, but over Fenrys’ brow there was now a shadow that spoke of violence. Had he unwittingly goaded his comrade into that fight, after all?

Lorcan wriggled a bit straighter. He glanced at his weapons again, planning how to get to them if Fenrys attacked. 

Fenrys didn’t appear to notice Lorcan’s discomfort, and instead only powered through, speaking through his teeth. 

“But I understand why you did it. I would have done it for Connall, if I could.” The Wolf’s shoulders sagged at that, the shadow over his face darkening. 

Lorcan finally pinpointed that shadow: it was rage, yes, but mixed with grief. Of course Connall’s loss would weigh on Fenrys' mind. Now that Lorcan understood, it was obvious. He cursed himself for not realizing it earlier. 

The stinging in Lorcan’s side grew more insistent, like a dagger hitting his spleen. He knew the bond between the two brothers. Lorcan’s betrayal hadn’t been the direct cause of Connall’s fate, but it had no doubt played into it. The feelings discernable on Fenry’s countenance, as well as this talk, it all made sense. The younger male had all right to be furious with him.

Lorcan swallowed. Something corroded in his stomach, like acid: guilt. His voice came out as an exhalation, the sound barely crimping the air:

“I’m sorry too. Connall deserved better. As did you.” 

His words were honest, but as Fenrys stiffened he wondered if the younger male would take them for an attempt to de-escalate the situation. Fenrys was as alert and wary as if his back was covered in fur. The Wolf might have bristled, had he been in his other form. 

In a smooth motion Fenrys moved over to the table where Lorcan’s weapons lay. He let a finger slip over the blades and Lorcan felt a tremor down his spine. 

His magic wound its way to the surface, darkness reaching over his shoulders, preparing for fight.

Fenrys picked up a thin dagger, weighing it in his hands as if to judge how hard he needed to throw it to pierce Lorcan’s heart. A couple of months ago Lorcan would have said he didn’t have a heart, but now it ached, marking its presence in his ribcage. He didn’t want to kill Fenrys, but he would, if it came to that.

“Fenrys …” Lorcan said in a warning, and slung a leg over the side of the bed, cursing his nakedness under the blanket. His midriff stung, the new skin stretching tight.

But Fenrys slammed the dagger back down onto the table and stared back at Lorcan. His blue eyes piercing as deep as any dagger. 

“I’ll never forgive Connall’s death. But I don’t blame you, Lorcan. You deserve the pain, but you don’t deserve to die.” His eyes slid down to the red splotch on Lorcan’s abdomen. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t make a mess and leave us to pick up the pieces.”

Lorcan faltered. Oh. Oh! That’s what this was about? His decision to throw away his life?

He heard Fenrys swallow, but the Wolf's gaze was unwavering. Lorcan made himself meet that stare pace by pace. His throat was tight, burning, as he remembered Elide´s words to him before the battle. Had it really happened only days earlier?

He could still see her in front of him. Her dark hair swaying in the wind, those onyx eyes seeing through him, to the very core of his sorry existence. Her judgement a sharp blade against his conscience, promising him no reprieve in his already too long and miserable life. To continue living had felt like a yoke on his shoulders. Lowering his shield on that battlefield hadn’t been as much a conscious decision as it had been an instinctive reaction to his grief. 

What was Fenrys expecting? An apology? That would be like apologizing for breathing. Lorcan ground his teeth. 

“You don’t understand”, he started, but Fenrys cut him off.

“No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand! Connall died. What do I have left? And do you see me throwing myself in front of a blade?” Fenrys’ eyes flashed with anger.

Lorcan trained his face to remain composed through the Wolf’s outbreak, but he started to understand that the younger male’s feelings might not entirely be about Lorcan’s own actions. Fenrys’ next words confirmed his suspicions.

“They asked me to get you, Lorcan. As you lay bleeding on that field, they told me to go down there and get you. And I couldn’t. I can’t access my powers anymore, ever since Connall … “ He squared his jaw, his blue eyes still livid as they met Lorcan’s.

“If you had died, I could never have forgiven myself.”

And there it was. 

Lorcan swallowed. He had wanted to die. After Elide confided she thought him a monster, that realization ground his insides to pieces. Everything Elide had said had rung true. How was it possible he had thought himself to be in love with Maeve? How had he reasoned when he justified his actions in calling Maeve to them? 

What if he had died, and because he wasn’t there to protect Elide, something had happened to her? Cold dread fell down Lorcan’s spine like raindrops.

Since he woke up on this cot, he’d drifted in and out of sleep. His thoughts had been slow and muddled, filled with the moment he shared with Elide. Not once had he thought of his comrades, how they had suffered. He realized he didn’t even know who else had survived the battle. He could still feel the tether to Aelin in his blood, but what about Rowan? Gavriel?

It took him a moment to place the feeling, it wasn’t one he was familiar with: shame.

He had despaired, and in acting on that despair he had wounded not only his cadre, but had risked Elide’s life. He was the one who couldn’t forgive himself.

As the shame licked his innards he tried a placating smile. It was shaky, and Fenrys only crossed his arms over his chest, his stare holding.

Fenrys wouldn’t tread any closer to that threshold Aelin had opened between the cadre, when she got Rowan out. The door that had opened up, allowing emotion to flood the century old bond between them. (in Lorcan: humiliation, anger, grief. In Fenrys: Envy, resentment)

But their group had been splintered and tainted, torn apart and put together in the most unlikely of ways. It was enough. To face Maeve now, they needed to be on the same wave-length. Maybe they would never be able to completely forget what they had been through, but Lorcan needed to take the first step.

Lorcan met Fenry’s eyes, never faltering. “I’m sorry”, he said. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I won’t do it again.”

Fenrys broke that stare, letting his arms fall to his sides. “You better not”, he muttered and turned back to the weapons on the table. 

This time Lorcan could see the action for what it was: vulnerability, something to do to avoid Lorcan’s penetrating look. Lorcan wanted to say something more, but he didn’t know what. He still sat perched on the end of the bed with the bowl precariously perched in his hands. That reminded him.

“Thank you”, he said. 

Fenrys looked up.

“For the food”, Lorcan clarified, holding up the empty bowl.

“That’s alright”, Fenrys answered. “I’ll get you some more.” He reached for the bowl and left, soon returning with more. This time, he didn’t linger, leaving Lorcan to his musings.

While Lorcan chewed his thoughts raced through his head, going over everything Fenrys had told him. Conflicting emotions (fear, happiness, anticipation) whirled like snowflakes over a steppe. What would happen now? They would soon be on the road again, heading north, preparing for battle. 

He didn’t know Aelin’s plans, but he was sure she had an ace up her sleeve. But there was a real chance none of them would survive this. The thought of dying had never been as bleak, so he suppressed it. No, they would live. He and Elide had many more years to come.

As if she’d known his thoughts had turned to her, the door creaked and she entered, with a candle in one hand. He hadn’t realized it had darkened outside, his fae eyes not bothered by the gloom. She put the candle next to the one on his bedside. He didn’t remember when that one had flickered out, it must have been some time during his slumber.

“Oh”, Elide said, her eyes immediately going to the bowl in his hands. A similar one was perched in her own fingers. “I thought I would make sure you ate, but it seems someone else got here before me.”

Lorcan finished the last bit of stew and put the bowl away on the floor. He reached for the bowl in her hands, and she obliged. He wasn’t hungry anymore in the least, but he wasn’t about to pass up a moment with her.

“Fenrys came over”, he grunted out while spooning his third bowl of the same grey stew.

Elide sat down on the side of the bed facing him, the mattress hardly shifting beneath her. Her fingers stroked over the stain on the blanket.

“That’s … surprising”, she said. “From how Gavriel and Rowan talked I would have suspected Fenrys wouldn’t care too much about you.”

In their travels, before rescuing Aelin, Gavriel had taken it upon himself to inform Elide as much as possible about the situation they were about to face. He had told her about Maeve, and all of the cadre: Their motivations (as far as he knew), their aspirations and allegiances. Anything that could possibly be relevant as they reached Wendlyn’s shores and began their search. 

Although Gavriel had done it under the guise of preparing her for the hardships to come, Lorcan had a suspicion another reason was to distract all of them. If they listened, they didn’t have time for the intruding, self-destructing feelings that loomed over their shoulders.

Lorcan stilled to watch her. Her braid fell over her shoulder, dishevelled from no doubt spending the day running around fetching rags and disposing of bloody water. His insides warmed at the sight, and he couldn’t keep a smile from his lips.

“Surprising is the right word”, he said, chuckling at the memory of Fenrys’ unexpected visit. He told her what had been said between them, although glossing over some of his own thoughts that he couldn’t quite explain yet. Discussing feelings was an entirely new affair to him, but he wanted to learn.

As he talked, Elide gestured to him to move over and scuttled in next to him. Her shoulder brushed his arm, and her hand reached for his. 

He quickly ladled up the last of the stew, and let her move the bowl next to the one on the floor. Then, before she could think better of it, he braided their fingers together. She smiled at that, and leaned into him. 

Lorcan’s heart leaped.

“It seems you have had a far more eventful afternoon than me”, she murmured. 

Watching her more closely he realized how exhausted she looked, and he extricated his fingers from hers. She groaned a protest, but quieted as his arm snaked over her shoulders and pulled her to him.

“You’re tired”, he said sheepishly. “How hard do they work you down there? You’re not going back today.”

She nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yrene said I should go to bed. The ones who will live are stable. And we’re continuing north tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, Lorcan would have recovered enough to go. They’d have to find a horse big enough for him, since he wouldn’t be able to keep up on foot, but he was glad Aelin didn’t dawdle; they had already lost too much time by staying in this fort. Who knew where Erawan was now? They had to get going before he met up with Maeve, for if their two foes united their strength, Lorcan doubted they could stand a chance. Not that their odds were particularly high to start with.

That thought sobered him. Who knew how long they would have together? Her human lifespan aside, they might both die in a week. He hugged her tighter.

She let out a giggle, an as sure as hellfire sign that she was tired, and yawned again.

“You need to sleep”, Lorcan decided and disentangled his arms from her.

She groaned in complaint, but shuffled off the bed. She left the room, probably to find a private place and some night clothes, and Lorcan took the opportunity to drag himself into a pair of pants. 

When she returned, he was already tucked underneath the blanket and held up a corner for her. 

She had rebraided her hair, and it fell in a glossy rope over her shoulder. It swayed slightly as she limped over to the bed.

Lorcan swore under his breath. He had been so deep in thought, and flickering in and out of sleep, he had forgotten to brace her leg during the day. As she stumbled down next to him on the mattress the smell of her pain washed over him.

“You’re hurting”, he spluttered.

She craned her neck to look at him. “Not so bad”, she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

But the sharp scent making its way to Lorcan’s nostrils told a different story. 

The ointment for pain was in his knapsack. He clambered over a stunned Elide and reached for his bag, rummaging around the bottom until he found the tin.

“Oh”, she said as he handed it to her. “I thought you had run out of this a long time ago.”

“I picked up some more when we were in Wendlyn. Since we haven’t exactly … been on speaking terms lately, I let Whitethorne make sure it reached you.”

Recognition sparked in her eyes. What was she realizing?

She shimmied further in on the bed to make room for him, and when he sat down, she snaked her foot into his lap. Her soft skin against him, even if it were her mangled ankle, was enough to make his heart beat faster. 

“Will you help me?” She slid the tin back to him, and he could barely keep back a soft gasp. He was a warrior, made for blood-letting and darkness. He could still feel the ghost of blood dripping from his fingertips the days before. What if he hurt her? Her ankle, already so prone to pain, was delicate, like a chick fallen from its nest. The old Lorcan would have passed the chick by, or broken its neck to save it from suffering. 

She only smiled at his hesitation. The smile hit him hard. Harder, now that he was rested and awake. It had that lump in his chest aching. And her next words caused it to throb:

“I trust you”, she said. 

She reached for his hand, grasping it softly. His heart thumped, and the ache ascended to his throat. He swallowed.

With bated breath, Lorcan allowed her to lead his hand toward her ankle. All the while, he watched her: that sweet smile, her eyelids that drooped from exhaustion. 

The first touch of his hands to her leg was tentative. He let his callouses slide over the top of her foot, then his palm. Soft and warm. Her toes twitched as if he tickled her, so he made his touches more determined. He stayed away from the ankle, just letting the feel of her skin to his heighten his pulse slightly. 

If this was all it took, he had it bad.

As he grew more confident, she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. That small smile still played on her lips.

He reached for the tin that was perched between them on the pillow and coated his fingers in the salve. Starting at the very base of her ankle he rubbed small circles. He kept the touch light, but still she hissed at the contact. He stopped, letting a small tendril of his magic reach out to steady her, before continuing.

He kept his motions constant, working his way up, until the smell of her pain started to lessen. Each stroke of his finger against that smooth skin sent shivers through him, warming him. He grunted, fighting the pictures rising to the forefront of his mind, of his fingers gliding higher on that leg, past the knee, over the thigh. No, he couldn’t let his thoughts wander.

Relief flooded Lorcan when she retracted her leg and yawned.

“Thank you”, she murmured. 

Lorcan helped her draw back the blanket, so she could settle under it, and then turned and blew out the candle. Then he lay down on top of the blanket.

He could see her frown thanks to his fae eyesight. “You’ll be cold.”

Lorcan chuckled. “I never get cold. Fae blood, remember?”

Her onyx eyes drifted from his face and down to his bare chest. She disentangled a slim hand from under the heavy blanket and put it over where his heart pounded. Then her eyes returned to his. She said: “I’ll be cold.”

Lorcan could hear the blood rushing through his head. How could a simple statement from her make him like this? Like he was the youngling he had been before Maeve, running around in Doranelle and letting his temper and testosterone get the better of him.

Finally, he managed: “We can’t have that.”

He extricated the blanket from under him, and pulled the edge of it over his lower half. Staying as close to the edge as physically possible on the narrow cot. He hadn’t lied when he said he wanted her close, but did she know what she was doing? He remembered that kiss from this morning. The mere memory heated his blood. He didn’t want to frighten her away.

But she only scooted closer, now that there was nothing separating them. She sighed and leaned her head against his chest, so trustingly. This close, he could feel her pulse against his skin, her elderberry scent invading his senses. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning his head down and breathing her in. She only snuggled in closer.

She quickly fell asleep. Her shallow breaths grew deeper, every exhale a warm wind against his chest. 

There was an ache in Lorcan's chest, it grew gradually, and he didn’t understand it. He was happy. He couldn’t remember a time in his five century old life when he had been this content, having her small body curled against his, her warmth intertwined with his. So what was this feeling? But the ache only grew, until tears built in his tear ducts. He took deep breaths to calm himself, but the feeling paid him no mind, and finally he shook. The tears slipped from his eyes and rolled down onto the pillow.

His shaking must have woken Elide, because suddenly her dark eyes looked up at him, a gentle hand against his cheek. He didn’t know how much she could see in the darkness, but he certainly wasn’t quiet. It was no suprise she understood what was happening.

“What’s wrong? Oh, what's wrong?”

Her concerned tone only spurred the ache in his chest and made the tears harder to repress. But her gaze was worried; those eyebrows scrunched, and a glaze over the irises.

“Nothing”, he admitted between sobs. “I don’t understand. I’m happy.”

He could see the thoughts churning in that clever head of hers, and finally, she propped herself up on an elbow to reach his face, where she pressed her lips gently against his. Her thumb reached up and stroked the tears from his cheek.

“You’re happy”, she said, a smile touching her lips. “Are you crying tears of joy?”

Another sob wracked Lorcan’s chest. The feeling was entirely unfamiliar to him, and he let his hand snake over Elide’s waist for support. She pressed closer, her arm finding its way over his shoulders in an embrace.

“It’s fine”, she said, stroking his shoulder. “We’re alright. We’re alive. Cry all you need.”

“It’s stupid”, he managed to croak. “Why does happiness make you cry?”

Elide shrugged a shoulder. “I have no idea. But it’s good to cry sometimes. It’s cathartic.” Her warm hands rubbed circles on his back, as he had with her ankle earlier, and every soft caress conjured new sobs. 

He had never shown this kind of vulnerability before, and every last instinct told him to stop, to run, and every one of his feelings told him to move closer, hold her tighter. He decided to listen to his feelings. He felt her smile against his chest as he pressed her against him, careful not to crush her.

“I don’t deserve you”, he said. At this, Elide pushed up and covered his lips with her own in a quick graze. Not to rouse, or to quiet him, but simply because it was the right thing to do. It settled the beating in his chest, and eventually, holding each other tightly, the sobbing faded too. 

She was right. Afterwards he felt somehow cleaner. Even though he had slept the entire day, drowsiness pushed on his eyelids, and finally, as they fell asleep, it was as one mind. 

All of Lorcan’s dreams revolved around her.

**Author's Note:**

> It was obvious Fenrys had something on his mind as Lorcan wakes up after the battle. I wanted to explore what that might be, as well as delve deeper into that first night Elide and Lorcan spend together after reuniting.
> 
> This is a bit of a mess, honestly. The Fenrys part and the Elide part are two different story lines, but since I wanted it to be canon compliant, it made sense to put them together. It made this way longer than I had expected. How is one supposed to end these things? And how do my stories only keep getting longer? Oh, well.


End file.
